


don't look, just leap

by thebackhand



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Boys Kissing, Cuddles, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Indian Wells, M/M, Miami, Oral Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Sass Wingman Sascha Zverev, They're both oblivious, a groupchat is involved, alternate universe - no coronavirus, anxious domi, can't believe i just typed that, domi is Soft, everyone ships it, long distance confession, post-AO final hurt/comfort, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebackhand/pseuds/thebackhand
Summary: Stefanos talks (and tweets, to Sascha’s unending horror) like he’s never bottled up a feeling in his life, let alone proofread a text for an hour.Dominic envies that as he sweeps the message back into his drafts, sendsgood nightinstead, and buries his face in his hands with a frustrated groan.
Relationships: Dominic Thiem & Alexander Zverev, Dominic Thiem/Stefanos Tsitsipas
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tripped and now I'm in tennis fanfic hell. I blame tennis twitter in general and dickviolin in particular.

Dominic suspects that starting this conversation would be easier if his brain worked more like Stef’s. Stefanos talks (and tweets, to Sascha’s unending horror) like he’s never bottled up a feeling in his life, let alone proofread a text for an hour.

There’s nothing to stop him from asking (if Stefanos remembers Geneva like he does, if Stef knows why losing in London didn’t shatter him), but it doesn’t matter. Dominic sweeps the message back into his drafts, sends _ good night _ instead, and buries his face in his hands with a frustrated groan.

Fuck, he’s got it so bad.  
  


“You did _ not _ just talk about doubles in Miami again.”

Dominic cringes, but he doesn’t tell Sascha he’s wrong.

“Jesus, Domi, you’re hopeless.”

“He doesn’t want… I’m too old for him,” Dominic mumbles, halfhearted, trying to let himself down gently like he has been for months.

Dominic wonders if Sascha gets headaches from rolling his eyes so hard.

“He’s twenty-one, not sixteen. And you don’t know what he wants because you won’t ask.” Sascha gets off the bench with an exasperated sigh and extends a hand. “C’mon, defending champion. Quit pining and give me a practice set.”

“I am not _ pining."_

Sascha’s skeptical eyebrow is nearly as eloquent as Rafa’s these days. Domi grins despite himself and takes the offered hand to pull himself to his feet.

“If I win, you have to tell him,” Sascha says. “Tonight.”

“Sasch–”

“If you win I drop it ‘til Miami’s over.”

Dominic has his doubts about Sascha dropping it, but part of him thinks neither outcome would be all that bad. So he shrugs and says “fine” and gets on with it.  
  


When Stefanos lost early in Melbourne, Dominic kept his distance. Better to say nothing than the wrong thing, he thought.

But Stef – earnest, disarming, guileless Stef – had no such reservations.

_ you’re amazing, Domi. you’ll get him next time _, the screen spelled out under his thumb. A tear dripped off his nose onto the glass, but a smile tugged at his lips.

_ thanks. i’m so tired, _ he tapped out. _ press was hell _

_ get some rest. and be nice to yourself, ok? you deserve it. _

It wasn’t easy (it’s instinct to self-isolate, pick the match apart, needle himself for every backhand that sailed long or into the net, listen to the cruel little voice that hisses_ you’re just not good enough), _ but he tried.  
  


Sascha’s grin at 7-5 is half triumph and half mischief, and Dominic wants to walk out into the desert and dig a hole to hide in. He walks to the net and high-fives Sascha instead, silently cursing himself for a couple of netted volleys.

He checks his phone in the locker room and chuckles at a Team Austria selfie from Dennis, which reminds him….

“Sasch, I know I said tonight but he’s got Davis Cup, I don’t want to distract–”

“His opponent is unranked, Domi,” Sascha deadpans. “I’m not letting you off, quit looking for loopholes or I’ll tell him myself.”

His stomach twists with nerves at that, and it must show on his face because Sascha’s expression softens a little.

“Listen. I’m on _ your _ side. I am giving you shit because everyone has been watching that kid moon after you for three fucking years and we’re sick of it. It’s nauseating, honestly.”

Sascha wrinkles his nose for dramatic effect, which is lost on Dominic because he’s too preoccupied with the words that preceded it.

“Did you say _ everyone’s… _ sorry, _ what?” _

Sascha mutters something like _ fuck’s sake _ under his breath and unlocks his phone to display the last few messages in a chat.

**Mischa:** taking bets on them getting together in miami

**Andrey:** wait are they not already a thing

**Marcelo:** i think they been dating since atp finals?

**Sascha:** nah domi keeps spooking himself

**Karen:** still??

Domi flushes scarlet under his tan, and Sascha bursts out laughing before plucking the phone out of his grasp.

“Text him. Worst thing he can say is no.”

Dominic opens his mouth to argue, to remind Sascha that there are plenty of things Stef could say that are worse than _ no, _but he closes it again without a word. He’s really not giving Stefanos enough credit.

“If he bails on you for Miami, I’ll kick his ass,” Sascha promises. His tone is far more severe than the occasion demands, and Dominic _ thinks _ he’s joking but can’t be sure.

“Please don’t,” he says just in case. Sascha shrugs.

  
  
  


_ hey stefanos i know this is weird but _

_ good luck today, wish elisavet happy birthday for me. btw when you fly in do you want to _

_ funny story, i lost a bet and sascha’s making me _

Dominic wipes out another sentence and glares at the blank line for a few moments, as if his phone might have a better idea of how to tell Stefanos goddamn Tsitsipas that he has _ feelings _ that have nothing (okay maybe something) to do with tennis.

His phone buzzes in his hand and startles him out of his thoughts.

_ you’ve been typing for half an hour lol what’s up? _

Stef. Shit.

_ sorry, i think i just left the app open _

_ oh _

Dominic chews on his lip for a moment and realizes that Stef would only have _ seen _ that he was typing if he’d already been looking at the chat. He also realizes that he’s exactly as ridiculous as Sascha claims.

_ that wasn’t true, _ he sends. _ sorry, i’m being an idiot _

_ ?? _

Domi is beginning to suspect that he’ll never spit this out if he has to do it by text.

_ … can i call you? _

The ellipses in this chat app are going to give him a complex.

_ give me a minute, i’ll call you _

Three minutes of silence feel like they age him about ten years. This is stupid. This is so, so stupid. By the time the phone finally rings, Dominic regrets every decision he’s ever made.

“Hi, Stefanos.” Well, at least his voice doesn’t crack.

“Domi, hi! Sorry, I don’t get good service in the hotel, it is an _ actual _tragedy. What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh. I just, ah… wondered how you’re doing. How you like Manila.”

Smooth. Sascha is never going to let him live this down. He can practically hear Stef’s dark brows furrowing.

“I’m fine. I got some good photos in the city last night. And I like the shell courts. They’re pretty, like playing on the beach.” He goes quiet for a few moments, and Dominic is about to reply when Stef continues, “I thought you were going to ask something really personal.”

Stefanos laughs, and the sound makes Dominic smile in spite of his anxiety.

Fuck it.

“Sort of, yeah,” he admits.

“Hm?”

“I’m trying to ask you out but I’m really bad at it.”

Dominic really hopes that rushed English sentence was coherent, because he can _ feel _ the heat in his face and he’s not convinced he can make himself say it again. But for a minute that feels like an hour, all he gets in response is radio silence.

“You… really?” Stef finally replies. He sounds like someone just slapped him.

“Mmhmm.” Domi thinks he might be sick if he opens his mouth, so he doesn’t.

A heavy sigh crackles through their connection, and Dominic can’t remember the last time he was this tense away from a tennis court.

“I’m holding you solely responsible if we lose this tie now,” Stef says. “I was so focused. I was in the zone, Domi. The _ zone."_

Any seriousness in Stef’s voice is effectively undermined by the kind of grin you can hear from across an ocean. 

“Now I want to kiss you. You can’t do this when we’re on different continents, that’s so cruel.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t wait,” Domi says, his own grin lighting up his face. “I’ll make up for it when you get here, promise.”

Dominic doesn’t know what to call the noise Stef makes before he disconnects the call. A few seconds later, his phone buzzes.

_ you can’t just SAY things like that!! jesus, you’re gonna be the death of me _

Domi responds with a heart. Stef sends a picture of himself attempting to look grumpy, but his blush ruins the effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before IW got cancelled so idk how that's gonna impact the way in which this fic continues, but it's here. They're cute and dumb. The next installment is in progress and it is Spicy.
> 
> anyway pls validate me i need praise to live


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sits on the bed and fidgets, painfully awkward, nails digging furrows into his sweaty palms. When that becomes unbearable, he paces. Part of him is still convinced that Stefanos will realize his mistake and bail.
> 
> But when Stef lets himself in, Dominic can’t find it in himself to regret a moment of it. Stefanos is beautiful and beaming, sunshine in human form, and he’s looking at Domi like there’s no one else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so mad at the plague for ruining Dominos doubles there are NO WORDS so I'm just gonna write a bunch of fluffy porn and ignore reality.
> 
> thanks to [dickviolin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickviolin) for beta reading!

“Ha, Mischa owes me lunch. He said no way you’d spit it out.”

Dominic considers getting indignant about that, but in all fairness, Mischa wasn’t far off. Hell, he keeps checking his phone to make sure last night’s conversation did actually happen and Stefanos is still talking to him. At the moment, Stef is halfway across the Pacific and has sent roughly thirty bored plane selfies in the past two hours.

_this is torture, domi. torture._

**you poor thing**

Stef’s most recent communication is a crying emoji and _you mock my pain!_

**life is pain, highness <3**

“Do me a favor,” Sascha says.

“Hm?”

“Please don’t keep me updated on your sex life.”

Domi chokes on his coffee. _Not_ what he was expecting.

“Sascha!”

“What? I added you to the group chat, tell _them_ if you need to.”

“I’m not… I don’t even…” Dominic pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “There’s nothing to _tell_.”

Sascha looks inordinately pleased with himself. Domi elbows him in the ribs.

“Go bother Mischa,” he grumbles.

_just checked in :D where are you?_

Domi’s thumb hovers over the button for nearly thirty seconds before he replies.

**224\. the door's not locked.**

He sits on the bed and fidgets, painfully awkward, nails digging furrows into his sweaty palms. When that becomes unbearable, he paces. Part of him is still convinced that Stefanos will realize his mistake and bail.

But when Stef lets himself in, Dominic can’t find it in himself to regret a moment of it. Stefanos is beautiful and beaming, sunshine in human form, and he’s looking at Domi like there’s no one else in the world.

“Hi,” Stef says. His voice is quiet, a little shy.

“Hi. Flight was okay?”

Stef nods and nudges the door shut with his foot before crossing the room to pull Dominic into a tight hug.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

Dominic hums in agreement and wraps his arms around Stef’s slim waist, leaning into the contact as warm breath ruffles his hair. He always forgets how tall Stef is when they haven’t seen each other in a while.

Stefanos brings one hand up to Domi’s face, thumb brushing his cheekbone, and suddenly Stef’s mouth is soft and hot on his.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Stefanos whispers, resting his forehead against Dominic’s and twining his fingers into his hair. “Wanted you for so long,” he sighs in the moments between kisses, swallowing every quiet noise Domi makes.

The low words send a shiver down Domi’s spine, and he arches into Stef’s touch. The stifled moan he gets in response has him grinning into the kiss. It’s gorgeous. _He’s_ gorgeous. Dominic can’t believe his luck.

Stefanos yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it, and he quivers as Domi’s fingertips trace lines of hard muscle under soft skin. He wants to say _you too_, wants to worship every inch of this body he’s only been allowed to admire from a distance before. But then Dominic kisses him again and palms him through his jeans, and his brain goes fuzzy. 

“Can I…?”

“God yes, Domi, please….”

With his jeans hanging off one ankle and the star of _many_ fantasies settled between his thighs, Stef thinks he might be dreaming. Or dead. He props himself up on his elbows to look at Dominic, who chooses that exact instant to quit teasing, pin Stef’s hips, and take his dick so deep it presses into the back of his throat.

“Fuck! Oh _fuck_, Domi,” Stef cries, his fingers tightening in soft hair, his own head falling back against the pillows. “So good, you’re _so_ good, please please please don’t stop.”

Dominic’s hands grip the backs of his thighs, and Stefanos _whimpers_ at the thought of him squeezing harder, of bruises in the shapes of his fingers. He’s so gentle, but Stef knows how strong Dominic is, how easily he could take control if he wanted to.

“Gonna come,” he gasps.

He can’t even be embarrassed about how quickly Domi has unraveled him, not when striking blue eyes meet his. The perfect wet heat around his cock doesn’t even pull away, swallowing around him until he’s spent and shaking, tears shining in his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, shuddering as Dominic leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his body. “Holy _shit. _I think I’m dead. I think you killed me.”

“Sorry,” Dominic laughs.

“Tell me you didn’t just apologize for giving amazing head. That’s not allowed.”

“Okay.”

Stefanos kisses him softly, then shifts a little so he can press his thigh between Dominic’s to feel how hard he is and listen to his breath hitch.

“You’re allowed to ask for help with that, you know,” Stef whispers, reaching between them to wrap his fingers around Domi’s cock. “You did so well, baby,” he says, taking note of how Dominic reacts to the praise and his touch with helpless little moans Stef can taste on his lips. He’s close, has been for a while, so it doesn’t take much more before he comes with a gasp and his face buried in the crook of Stef’s neck.

Getting up is out of the question, so Stefanos just wipes his hand on the edge of the sheet and pulls the covers over them both. It’s quiet for a while, and Stef thinks he falls asleep for a few minutes with Dominic’s head on his shoulder.

“I should’ve told you a while ago, I think,” Dominic finally says. Stefanos grins and turns to kiss his forehead.

“Yes, you should have. Or maybe I should have. Don’t worry about it. We have time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to resist the Princess Bride reference and found I physically could not.
> 
> So I keep waffling on whether or not to continue this as its own ongoing fic because it was initially intended to follow their Miami campaign and... you know. At the moment I plan to keep it going and just make shit up for a hypothetical Sunshine Double.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/opthiemist) is where I go to scream tennis feels into the void and thirst after Dominic Thiem and occasionally post my photography


End file.
